


Claim

by raisedbymoogles



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Plug and Play, Shameless Smut, Whips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1195479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles/pseuds/raisedbymoogles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galvatron finds something in Rodimus's subspace that gives him Ideas. Things... escalate from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claim

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XV.

"And what is  _this?_ "  
  
Galvatron's knee ground into Rodimus's back, pinning him to the ground already blackened and scorched by their battle. Without a shred of leverage, Rodimus was helpless, reduced to cursing and kicking at the ground under his pedes as Galvatron pinned his arms with one hand and hacked his subspace pocket with the other - and now it seemed Galvatron had found the one item Rodimus could  _not_  let him find under any circumstances. He made one last-ditch, completely futile effort to thrash free, and then lay still with his vents panting as Galvatron leaned over him to speak in his audial.  
  
"Are  _these_  what Autobots call restraints?"  
  
"They were a gag gift." Rodimus felt his plating burn with embarrassment, so intense he had no doubt the rival leader could feel it. Sure enough, Galvatron laughed loudly, his voice ringing off the sky. Rodimus squirmed for a different reason now, shuttering his optics and bracing himself.  _And I am going to get revenge on Springer. If I don't die of embarrassment before Galvatron shoots me._  
  
Still laughing, Galvatron shifted his grip on Rodimus's arms, bringing his wrists closer together. There was a couple of small 'clicks' and Rodimus jerked in surprise. "Hey, what the-?" He jerked again, just to feel the constriction of the cheap pink-fur-covered handcuffs around his wrists. The slagging spawn of the Unmaker had actually-!  
  
"They suit you, Rodimus," Galvatron told him, mocking-fond, and Rodimus found himself cracking a grin.  
  
***  
  
The handcuffs broke before either of them got off. Fortunately Galvatron had another pair, and these were the maximum-security kind meant for restraining the most dangerous prisoners. Printed on the side was a legend that said  _Using this equipment for other than its intended purpose will void the warranty._  
  
 _Consider that warranty thoroughly voided._  Rodimus hung from an eyebolt driven into the side of the cliff by his cuffed wrists, arms screaming with the weight, but that pain was drowned out by Galvatron's skillful application of an energy whip.  _You carry this stuff in subspace all the time?_  Rodimus had demanded in disbelief at the time; Galvatron had just  _grinned_  in a devilish way that had Rodimus's engine revving too hard to think. And it hadn't stopped since, which only encouraged his - rival? Paramour? Dom? Enemy with benefits? Rodimus wasn't sure anymore.  
  
"Beautiful, Rodimus." Rodimus was facing Galvatron as he worked this time, and the look on the warlord's face was rapturous. "Your pain is beautiful." He cranked his arm back, sparks wreathing his hand and halfway up his forearm where he gripped the whip's apparently faulty handle. It must have hurt, but Galvatron showed no hesitation in letting it fly.  
  
Rodimus cried out as the whip slashed across his chest, right over his decal. Or what was left of it, anyway - Galvatron seemed to enjoy focusing on that spot, and now the area was all but stripped of its paint and stinging so badly that outlying sensory networks were affected. All of this without being touched once - he was still turned on, but Rodimus could almost suspect that this was just target practice for Galvatron if it wasn't for his rapt expression.  
  
"Having fun?" he asked, his voice slightly hoarse.  
  
"Oh, yes." Galvatron's hand clenched on the whip's handle, twitching as an answering spark crawled almost to his elbow. "Oh, Prime, yes."  
  
Galvatron had never said his title like that before - like it meant something to him. Rodimus wanted to ask further, but a flurry of strikes down his thighs drove the questions from his mind. He writhed against the stone and Galvatron laughed. "You see, Rodimus?" he demanded, as another lash stole the young Prime's senses. "This is the music we make together. Our duet of agony!"  
  
 _So that's what this is._  Rodimus forced his optics on, knowing he was grimacing in pain. Galvatron's gaze, however, was all pride and a twisted kind of proprietary affection - as close to love as Rodimus had ever seen him come. His spark - an unexpected source of pain - throbbed with longing in its chamber.  
  
"Ah," Galvatron purred, "if only I could feel what you feel!"  
  
Rodimus felt his face relax in a smile. "You can." His data ports - locked down all this time, as though they were still fighting - unlocked, already humming with the data they longed to give, and Rodimus couldn't help a slow roll of his hips. "Come plug in."  
  
"Plug... in?" Galvatron repeated, mystified and rather taken aback - although he was still moving forward. "Do you want me to break your firewalls?"  
  
Rodimus shook his head. "I'll lower them for you."  
  
Galvatron actually looked shocked, and Rodimus didn't blame him - what he proposed was more serious than mere pain, and he did wonder as the warlord continued to approach whether he was as crazy as everyone said Galvatron was. But Galvatron, at least, didn't accuse him of lunacy, or foolishness, or recklessness. He simply reached out and stroked his hands down Rodimus's lash-marked body, making him squirm in a mixture of pain and pleasure as blunt, strong fingers found and explored his port hubs on his sides.  
  
"Please," he urged as Galvatron's touch circled the rims.  
  
Galvatron's mouth turned upward in a smirk, and Rodimus was hooked by it, vents humming faster as he imagined kissing that cruel mouth. "Who would have guessed you'd be so eager. You're quivering, Rodimus." He was, in delighted anticipation spiked with just a little bit of terror, enough to make the  _want_  all the stronger. "The Matrix may have chosen you, but I think you were meant to be mine."  
  
 _Oh, Primus._  Rodimus shuddered in wordless agreement, arching against his warlord as Galvatron chose a port and plugged into it. Power snapped through them both, Galvatron clutching Rodimus's sides as Rodimus's hands convulsed into fists, and just as promised, Rodimus's firewalls surrendered to Galvatron's fierce invasion.  
  
It was terrible, agonizing; it was bliss. Galvatron took control like he was forged to take it, slaving Rodimus's systems to his own, but it was Rodimus's pain he siezed upon, not his command codes or classified knowledge. Rodimus arched so hard his heels scraped the stone as his whip marks flared anew in his sensor net. In return for the surrender of his pain, he was flooded with Galvatron's wild joy. He was Galvatron's subsystem, an extension of him, and Galvatron's delight in it was matched only by his own. He threw his helm back, crying out his warlord's name.  
  
"Say it again," Galvatron demanded in his audial, lips barely brushing the protective dome.  
  
"Galvatron!"  
  
The desire for a kiss was back again, and this time Galvatron felt it too. Engine racing against Rodimus's, he looped the whip around his captive's neck like a shock collar and used it to pull him forward into it. They kissed each other greedily, less skill than enthusiasm and  _need,_  until the pleasure and pain they shared became to great even for them to bear and plunged them into a hard overload.  
  
***  
  
Galvatron must have regained consciousness first: when Rodimus came to, he'd been lifted off the cliff and laid down underneath it, in his warlord's arms. Of course the cuffs themselves were still on. Galvatron had liked the look of them on Rodimus.  
  
Galvatron himself appeared to be in a low-power state. His crowned helm was lowered, optics dim; his vents hissed softly. In contrast to Rodimus, the only marks on him were the spidery scorch marks on his forearm and a few red and orange spots where the paint had rubbed off. Rodimus throbbed enough that he didn't want to get a good look at himself yet.  
  
It was a good pain, though. He felt like he'd earned it. Rodimus smiled and canted his helm to Galvatron's shoulder again. Common sense and the reality of their war would return soon enough, but while it lasted he wanted to revel in the feeling of being claimed.


End file.
